


Black Mamba

by teenager



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Murder, Short One Shot, Time Travel, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:22:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3408752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenager/pseuds/teenager
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is for Derek,” Stiles whispers.</p>
<p>The toxin soaked knife slips through his skin and bones and muscle like butter.</p>
<p>“Really?” Peter laughs. “You stabbed me in the back. Literally.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Mamba

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus H. Christ guys, I found this one-shot on my livejournal (YES! MY LIVEJOURNAL) and I just had to post it here.
> 
> Originally written: 2012-11-09 23:29:00  
> Edited February 21, 2015

The distinction between the two of them is so extraordinarily noticeable that it actually hurts to stare for too long.

You have _Stiles_ ; this awkward, gangly teen who happens to ramble uncontrollably and shoot off sarcasm like second nature. Can't ward off a fly to save his life; his thin, fragile body wrapped in pale, baby smooth skin, marked only by beauty marks and moles. With his strangely feminine facial features, especially his button nose and plump lips and his dazzling bambi eyes, warm and loving and unguarded. His haircut, one of the only things that makes his look boyish, an awful buzz-cut that he probably has because he’s too lazy to actually brush it. His clothing choice, is also unfortunate. A never ending collection of plaid shirts over graphic t-shirts that always seem to be two sizes too big. The same can be said of his jeans, which are usually tattered and faded.

Then you have this _new_ Stiles; this man whose rough and with a lithe, defined body. His hair is tousled and around an inch long, making him look significantly older alone. He isn’t old, exactly, but his face has aged significantly. The most notably difference are his eyes. They’re still big and brown, but no longer innocent, full of distrust and caution. He still has moles dotted along every inch of flesh, but he has  scars and claw marks covering marring his otherwise flawless skin. They’re scattered down his arms and neck, there’s one jagged scar settled proudly on his left cheek making him look like a warrior. His choice of wardrobe is simple enough, a well fitted black shirt and jeans that hang low on his hips. He wears black combat boots that poorly conceal a large combat knife. In addition to the knife, he can tell the man has a gun tucked in the waistband of his dark jeans. He’s dangerous and lethal, that much is obvious.

Teenage Stiles stares in shock, jaw on the floor, gawking at his future self. His mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, unsure of what to say. The older version of Stiles doesn't even notice, or he doesn't care, about how his presence affects his younger self.

He strides forward with purpose, _a man on a mission_ , and doesn't stop until he comes to stand right in front himself. The older man huffs out a breath and looks over himself with carefully, like he's checking over a child who's recently been hurt.

"I... what's going on?" Young Stiles babbles.

Everyone stands, watching the exchange at hand with awe. Interest an obvious feeling radiating from the pack, even Peter finds himself indulging in the interaction between the two boys.

Older Stiles doesn't say a thing, though. He winks quickly, like an encouragement, a reasurement that everything is alright. He looks calm, he is calm if his heartbeat is any indication, as he turns away from his younger self. Peter can hear the steady _thump thump thump_ as the blood flows through his veins. It is infuriatingly calming and Peter can't stand it. It's intoxicating, even now, almost doubly so, since there are two Stiles in front of him. He takes a quick breath, subtly trying to obtain more of this heady scent. Peter can’t help it, then, when his body emits a low, almost inaudible rumble of pleasure.

That’s when Stiles looks over at him, cocking his head slightly and smiling at Peter. It doesn't reach his eyes, though. It's faked and it looks like it hurts him to even try and perform this act of faux friendliness. Peter doesn't mind, not really, he's given the same look to plenty people before, and so it's strange and slightly invigorating to see it on Stiles' face.

Stiles walks over to him, his heart beat finally speeding up. Peter find his own heart speeding up at the moment, but he doesn't let it show, keeps on his mask of indifference. The man walks until the two of them are almost chest to chest. He can feel older Stiles’ heartbeat, he can feel the heat radiating off his lean body, and Peter likes it. He finds himself leaning in to the other man's aura.

He leans in slowly in Stiles’ personal space because wants to. He’s always wanted Stiles. He can feel the eyes of the pack watching the scene play out and it pleases him. Having an audience watch them makes him feel like a spectacle to be witnessed and it pleases him beyond belief. He doesn't know what's going on, but he can't find it in himself to care. One of Stiles’ arms slithers around Peter’s neck and he reels the wolf in close. Stiles twists Peter’s head until his ear is right next to Stiles mouth, it's stimulating.

"This is for Derek,” Stiles whispers.

A light bulb flickers within his brain. Peter already knows what is about to happen. He was curious as to what this was all about, why Stiles would find his way back into the past.Peter smiles, it's been his plan since he came back from the dead.

He’s the rightful alpha of Beacon Hills, no matter what anyone says.

Peter can't act quick enough, the smell of silver and wolfsbane assaulting his nose. He doesn’t know how Stiles had enough time to even reach for his knife, but he did. His skills have definitely improved over the years. The toxin soaked knife slips through his skin and bones and muscle like butter. He knows that much from the aching burn rising up his spine and to the rest of his body

“Really?” Peter laughs, blood splattering onto his chin and onto Stiles’ face. He feels sick and aroused. “You stabbed me in the back. Literally.”

How he could let his guard down so easily by this man, who still has armed wrapped around Peter's neck, is a surprise to everyone, Peter especially. How cunning Stiles has become is absolutely mouth-watering to him.

“Just returning the favor,” Stiles answers roughly, looking ever so pleased.

He can't feel the knife twist, but it does. By now his entire body is senseless and he's gasping for air. Stiles still doesn’t let go, watching Peter with an otherworldly intensity. Stiles slowly lowers the both of them to the ground, yanking the knife out before he lets Peter’s body fall on the floor. Stiles straddles him and it turns Peter on. He wipes the bloody knife on his shirt before he shoves the knife back into Peter. Plunging the blade deep into Peter’s stomach. He can’t feel it, thankfully, and Peter lets out a strangled laugh.

"Long live the alpha."

“The rightful alpha,” Stiles grunts.

Stiles’ form flickers, visible and then invisible and then he’s gone altogether. The pressure on Peter’s lower half disappears and he grits his teeth as his vision fades to a pinhole. He lays on the ground dying and no one makes a move. He doesn't care. He’ll find a way back. He’s done it before and he’ll do it again if he has to.

He’ll come back and claim his place as alpha, even if he does have to kill his darling nephew. Then he’ll take the boy who rightfully belongs to him and control the pack with an iron fist.

It’s his destiny, always has been and always will.

He is the rightful alpha.

**Author's Note:**

> There are a few more short works stashed on my LJ that I would like to post on this account. Leave a comment if you would like to see more of these ancient babies.


End file.
